THE ART OF DYING

17 6 3
                                    

Seven seas across, in the beautiful island of my mind

I saw my face reflected in the water

Glimmered by the fishes who sought more

Dispersed as my footsteps were forged into the sand

The water cupped in my palm held the shells

Which read the messages of my past

Run! Fear! Even though I ought to be

My eyes told a different story of the free

O How much I wished to be a fish

Who took the vast ocean as their shelter

Living in the psyche of one another

Even as the truth eluded from every side

Attacked all seconds by the mighty adverse

The land was a refugee and I was the star

I could only watch while the moon pulled tides

And flood my conscience with the dread I held

As I wished to embrace the end

From the tears of everyone who loved me

Of the one act, I played my whole life

Of a mere human from this land- my own mind

POEM COLLECTIONWhere stories live. Discover now